Sunglasses At Night
by bittersweet saturn
Summary: Whoo boy. The fluff monster ate my head for this one. It's Tazz X Michael Cole. It takes place right after JBL accidentally voluntarily quit Smackdown. There is sex. Between two men. I don't know how much clearer I can get.


_Premise: Right after JBL sort-of-not-really-voluntarily quit Smackdown, Tazz and Cole celebrate. Cole has not yet filled Tazz in on his whole "I have a major crush on you and have had one for at least 5 years" thing. Tazz is not as clueless as he looks. Sex of the gay persuasion happens. ... That's pretty much it._

This fic stars (Tazz) and (Michael Cole):

♥They got attacked by cake!♥ XD

**Warnings: Mush, ...A little angst XD, First-time sex, PLOT OMG, Alcohol-consumption, Sex between men who are well over the age of 30.**

Sunglasses at Night

Michael Cole was somewhat drunk. He had decided this a minute ago, when he realized that his skin felt hot, despite the hotel room's AC on full blast. Furthermore, he had decided that Tazz wasn't nearly as drunk as he was. The former wrestler was downing the same amount of alcohol he was, but didn't seem to be affected at all. Michael tried to stop smiling and feeling warm, but it did no good. He could never control himself very well when he was with Tazz. He barely felt connected to the over-starched bedspread underneath him.

The two of them sat, shirts untucked, in the middle of one of the hotel beds, a half-full whisky bottle and two glasses between them. Michael had stripped off his tie and thrown it onto the floor at some point, but his memory was a little fuzzy on the details. He couldn't help but notice that Tazz had unbuttoned the first few buttons on his shirt and loosened his tie. He was trying not to stare at his exposed skin.

At the moment, Tazz was telling a story about his days in ECW, but despite the play-by-play announcer's best efforts, his mind began to wander. Who had suggested they drink in the first place? Was it Tazz? Michael thought for a minute; it hadn't been him, so it had to have been Tazz. And who had picked out this whiskey? He didn't drink anything heavy; it must have been Tazz. He snapped out of his ponderings, intending to ask his friend, when he noticed the big man staring at him.

A jolt of electricity ran through Michael. He hated when Tazz insisting on wearing his sunglasses away from the show; he couldn't guess what his friend was thinking when he couldn't see his eyes. Why was Tazz staring at him? He realized he had been rude, and said, flustered,

"Sorry, Tazz, I didn't mean to space out." Was he blushing? He hoped not. He had a tendency to blush a lot around Tazz. His friend just grinned and waved away his apology, laughing,

"You're such a lightweight, Girlpants." Michael bristled a little, but he knew Tazz was just joking. Still, his smile must have disappeared, because Tazz placed a warm hand on his arm, and said reassuringly,

"Hey, Michael, I was kidding." Michael blinked, and had to smile at his friend, the heat radiating from his body. He shook his head and replied, slurring slightly,

"I know, partner. Jesus, what proof is this whiskey?" It was starting to feel very stuffy, and he absent-mindedly unbuttoned the top three buttons of his shirt, fanning himself. His friend laughed, and said,

"80, Cole. I told you that when we started. You seemed pretty up for it, and said something about Bradshaw getting what he deserved." Michael thought a moment, and the memory came back to him, slowly. Oh yes, he had gloated about JBL accidentally-voluntarily quitting Smackdown, hadn't he? Michael laughed, shaking his head, but Tazz's brows were furrowed, and he wasn't smiling when he said,

"Hey, Michael, are you okay, bud? We didn't have to drink so much, you know." Michael shook his head and said, perhaps a little too passionately,

"No, no, I love this, Tazz." His friend smiled ruefully at his drunken sincerity, and Michael had to bite his lip to stop from smiling back like an idiot.

Tazz moved the bottle and glasses to the floor, apparently deciding they had had enough. He watched Tazz lean over the edge of the bed out of the corner of his eye. The fabric of the big man's shirt stretched over his back, and Michael swallowed at the strength hidden underneath. The shorter man put the cap on the bottle and set it away safely, against the wall, and turned to face Michael.

The play-by-play announcer darted his eyes away from his partner guiltily, hoping it hadn't been obvious how he had let his eyes rest on his strong shoulders. Was it just him, or had Tazz scooted closer to him? He squinted at the bigger man, getting the strangest feeling that the former wrestler was staring at him, but he couldn't tell because of the sunglasses. It was probably his imagination. He was used to it. Praying he wasn't blushing, Michael tried to ignore it by picking at some loose threads on the bedspread. He bit his lip when Tazz said,

"What's so fascinating about the bed, partner?" He looked up, startled, and saw a small grin on his friend's face. Michael swallowed, and felt his cheeks get hot. Now he was definitely blushing. He was about to make an attempt to reply, but was cut off when the big man continued,

"You know, I think I have to make a confession. It wouldn't really be fair to keep you in the dark anymore." The play-by-play announcer was lost. He was almost glad when Tazz continued, but the knot in his stomach tightened.

"I've been hearing a lot of rumors flying around the locker room, and I had a question for you." Cole felt like he had been punched in the gut. His first reaction was panic, but he didn't move for a long minute. He couldn't even look away from Tazz's face. He felt the color drain from his face, and he figured out why Tazz had suggested they celebrate. Tazz knew. He _knew_. Somehow Cole had let his feelings for Tazz become more obvious than he had realized, and Tazz wanted to let him down gently. He suddenly felt very sober.

He bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting to show his distress, and blurted out,

"I swear I never meant to be anything more than professional, Tazz. I hope I never made you uncomfortable. I'm so sorry if I ever did. It was never my intention to let how I feel about you interfere with our jobs. I never meant for anyone to find out, especially you. Oh, God, I am so sorry, Tazz." The words had rushed out of his mouth before he could stop himself. Michael was out of breath, and only now realized that Tazz hadn't started away in disgust. In fact, as he had made his speech, the shorter man had scooted closer. He blinked, confused. Why wasn't Tazz running out the door, screaming? Was he _smiling?_ What was going on?

He wasn't expecting Tazz to flip his sunglasses up and capture his lips in a chaste kiss. Michael's eyes widened, and he didn't get a chance to react before his friend pulled away, grinning. Before he could say anything, Tazz cleared his throat and said, somewhat pink in the cheeks,

"I guess my intentions weren't all that honorable. I wanted to get you drunk enough so that you'd finally admit a few things, not so that you'd have a cow about it." Michael gaped at Tazz, who was smirking. The shock was wearing off, and was replaced by bewilderment. He wasn't sure which state of mind he preferred. He took a deep breath and, trying to ignore the ghost of Tazz's lips, asked,

"Why did you do that?" The former wrestler rolled his eyes and retorted,

"For the same reasons anybody kisses anybody, Michael. Geez, how dense _are_ you?" Without another warning, Tazz claimed his friend's mouth again. This time, Michael shut his eyes. He felt a surge of adrenaline rush through him when Tazz pushed his tongue past his lips, and opened his mouth to respond.

Tazz tasted like whiskey, and he idly wondered if he did, too, as he sucked on the invading tongue. Tazz groaned, low in his throat, and pulled the smaller man against him, wrapping his strong arms around him. Michael's questions seemed to melt from his mind. It was like five years of watching his friend finally made sense. The play-by-play announcer didn't want to cheapen it by saying silly words, but a warmth he hadn't felt in years spread through him anyway.

Michael brought his arms up to twist around his friend's neck, and he absently grabbed hold of the sunglasses to throw them to the floor somewhere. Tazz broke their kiss to ask raggedly,

"What was that for?" The play-by-play announcer smiled and replied,

"I hate it when you wear those sunglasses at night," before kissing him again, meeting Tazz's tongue with his own. Tazz brought one hand to unbutton Michael's shirt all the way, leaving his chest exposed to the cold hotel air. The smaller man pressed himself against Tazz, and could feel a bulge in his pants against his own. Shivering, Michael bucked his hips against Tazz's involuntarily, and his friend growled.

Tazz dragged his hands down Michael's back, his short nails making the other man gasp into their kiss. He rested them on his friend's ass and ground his hips into his own, making the smaller man break the kiss with a moan, his head falling back. He was sure Tazz could feel his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest. Tazz took the opportunity to kiss his neck, sucking hard enough under his jaw to leave a mark.

Michael shuddered, and brought his mouth back to Tazz's, his hands finding their way to his shirt, and unbuttoned it all the way, pushing it open. Michael's hands greedily moved over his friend's strong chest, skimmed over his stomach, and just as greedily flew to the bigger man's pants.

Unzipping them, he reached in to find Tazz hard, and bigger than he had imagined. Wrapping one hand around his cock, Michael stroked gently, not breaking the kiss. Tazz groaned, and squeezed Cole's ass though his pants, making him groan. Moving so that he straddled the shorter man's lap, Michael broke the kiss to increase the pace of his strokes, and was rewarded with the sight of Tazz, eyes closed and in a state of bliss.

He was completely unprepared when Tazz flipped him over onto his back, and his hands flew up to cling to his friend's shoulders. The former wrestler grinned down at Michael. He quickly unzipped the smaller man's pants and stripped him of them, and his boxers, in one tug. Michael felt exposed, and was trembling slightly, not all from the cold air. His penis was already leaking pre-cum. Tazz smiled down at his friend, and swooped in to capture his lips again. Michael gasped when the bigger man's calloused hands trailed down his chest, stopping to pinch his nipples.

Michael let his hands gravitate down Tazz's back, and pull his slacks down enough to expose the other man's cock, as well. The Human Suplex Machine hissed, and reached in one pocket to pull out a small tube of lubricant. Michael's eyes widened, and he looked up at Tazz. His friend was grinning like the cat who had got into the cream. He coughed, a little pink, and said gruffly,

"I told you my intentions weren't really honorable." Michael couldn't help but laugh; Tazz's face was so hopeful and unsure. He turned them both over so that Tazz was leaning against the pillows, sitting up. Stradling the big man's lap, Michael yanked his slacks off the rest of the way. His heart skipped a beat when he realized how often he had fantasized about this happening. He had never even hoped that it would become a reality, and his head was spinning from the thrill of it.

The play-by-play announcer kissed Tazz, and plucked the lubricant from his hands. Pulling away, Michael couldn't keep the smile from his face, and said quietly,

"Don't worry, Tazz. I know my way around this." His friend quirked an eyebrow at him, a smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth, and was about to make a snarky retort when Michael kissed him again, briefly. His hands slid down Tazz's chest, and he wrapped one hand around the shorter man's cock, opening the tube with the other. The big man's eyes had slid shut, and he brought his arms around Michael's waist. 

Guessing correctly, the play-by-play announcer fished through his friend's pockets and found a condom packet. He ripped it open and rolled the condom down Tazz's penis carefully. Squeezing a generous amount of lubricant onto his fingers, Michael switched hands, and stroked the shorter man's penis, coating it with the clear gel. Tazz groaned, and his hips seemed to grind against the air of their own accord.

Michael squeezed some more onto his fingers, and was about to lower them to prepare himself, when Tazz stopped him. The taller man looked at him, confused, and Tazz had to fight back a grin when he said,

"You can leave this part to me, Girlpants." Michael's heart stopped for a moment, and he could only nod, dumbly, knowing he had flushed at his friend's words. Tazz wiped the lubricant onto his own fingers, and, reaching around and under, found the taller man's tight pucker. Worming one finger in carefully, the former wrestler watched Michael's face for any sign of pain.

When the shorter man added another finger, they brushed Michael's prostate, and he had to lean into Tazz's shoulder, panting. He felt close to orgasming, and he had to calm himself down. He couldn't help but smile, feeling like a damned teenager. When his friend added a third finger, painfully slowly, he moaned desperately, and pushed himself up enough to pant into the other man's ear,

"I think that's enough preparation, Tazz." Tazz nodded, and pulled his hand out, wiping it briefly on the bedspread, and positioned himself at Michael's entrance. The taller man lowered himself onto Tazz, a strangled groan coming out as Tazz's cock entered him. Tazz's head fell back, and his hips bucked up involuntarily, making his friend jerk against him. Michael rested his hands on his friend's shoulders, using them as leverage to pump his hips up and down. 

Tazz watched Michael with lidded eyes for a while, letting him have control, but soon, he felt close to release, and wrapped his arms around his friend tightly. Michael halted, cheeks flushed and breathing heavily. Tazz smirked briefly, and before Michael could think of anything to say, flipped him over onto his back.

Michael yelped, and had to reach up to grab onto his friend for support for the second time that night. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, Tazz pulled out of the taller man's ass, and slammed back in again to the hilt. Michael moaned, and wrapped his legs around the other man. 

Tazz pumped slowly at first, but when Michael bucked against him, he quickened his pace. The taller man's cock was trapped in between their bodies, and Tazz reached between them to stroke it in time with his thrusts. From his angle, he was hitting his friend's prostate with nearly every thrust.

With sensation bombarding him from everywhere, Michael came first with a strangled moan, spurts of semen spattering his stomach and Tazz's hands. He clenched involuntarily, shuddering. That was too much for Tazz, who made one last thrust, and came with a low grunt.

The two stayed like that for a moment, slowly getting their bearings. Tazz moved first, pulling out gently. Michael grunted softly, and watched lazily as Tazz stripped off the condom, and padded to the bathroom. He came back with a wet washcloth and cleaned off the taller man, who sat up. They stared at each other for a while, neither saying anything, until Tazz broke into a smile, turning pink.

"I should get you drunk more often," he said, grinning ear to ear. Michael rolled his eyes, but couldn't keep the laughter from bubbling up. He suddenly felt very tired, and yawned widely. Tazz chuckled, and moved to the other side of the bed, crawling in under the covers. Michael followed suit, sleep closing in quickly, but not before he felt Tazz nuzzle in close to him, and wrap one arm around him. He drifted off, smiling, feeling warm and safe.

The two said little out of the ordinary the next morning at breakfast, but some of the wrestlers noticed that the two _Smackdown!_ announcers sat very close to each other in the dining room, giving each other sly looks when they thought no one was looking. They were so obvious sometimes.

"Girlpants" is quite possibly the best endearment ♥_ever_♥


End file.
